


Burros en la Fuente

by TheFlyingWriter



Series: Los Niños de Santa Cecilia [2]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Cute Kids, Donkeys, F/M, Impromptu Swimming, Mariachis, Pre-Canon, Scaring Kids Into Behaving, Singing, also imeldas mom is here again vaguely, also wow can you believe it ernesto and the twins actually exist now, i could literally think of no better title than this rip me, i want her dad to come in but i need to figure out details, these tags are so random but i swear it makes sense if you read it lmbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 13:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16219754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlyingWriter/pseuds/TheFlyingWriter
Summary: 10-year-old Imelda finds herself warming up to that weird boy, Héctor. So of course she has to go to the plaza to hear him play for her (er, I mean, buy groceries and totally ignore him... totally).A follow-up to 'Al Escondite', but you can probably read it as a standalone.





	Burros en la Fuente

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends and neighbors! :)
> 
> I basically wrote this over the weekend, and it went through so many revisions (plot wise, lmbo)! :0 Nevertheless, I think I've finally gotten it to a point where I'm happy with it, so I figured I should post it before I start nitpicking.
> 
> The title and tags seem really random, but I swear it (kind of) makes sense if you read it! :'D Also, we get some more Ernesto, as well as some actual twin interaction! Yay! I'm not sure how they all turned out, in-character-wise, but hopefully they're somewhat close; again, sorry if anyone seems off (my excuse is that they're children, lol)!
> 
> Like my last fic, I'll include the disclaimer that I am definitely not bilingual, and most (if not all) Spanish was done through either Google Translate or Spanish Dict. So apologies if the translations are not accurate! :P Also, this has not been beta'd, so please let me know if you find anything weird or any typos!
> 
> I'll include some more notes at the end, but for now, enjoy the story! :)

Imelda had been at home all day. Well, to be more specific, the past _five_ days. Her tíos had come into town unexpectedly, so she had been busy with trying to do chores, as well as entertain and be sociable, _and_ make sure the twins were kept from trouble. Her tíos were _finally_ leaving that afternoon, and Imelda could _not_ be more relieved. It wasn’t that she disliked her familia (most certainly not!); it was simply that her mind had been heavily preoccupied elsewhere, and the one person she could not stop thinking about had been entirely inaccessible to her.

Ay, yes, she had been thinking about that boy, Héctor. It was still hard to admit to herself, but she was vaguely aware that she didn’t _completely_ hate him anymore (perhaps no longer at all). She had been trying to forget about him all week, (mostly to keep her focused on her family,) but so far, it had been in vain.

It was late in the day when Imelda trudged up to her room, grateful to finally get some peace and quiet for herself. After closing the door, she relaxed on the bed, determined to not think about anything but rest.

Unfortunately, music from her window (which she usually cherished) would not leave her alone. It played on incessantly, and Imelda realized it was from the cantina. Ay, the cantina where she’d gone and danced with…

Imelda moved to the window to close it (and take her mind off of things), but once she got there, she paused and rested her arms on the windowsill, gazing down at the street below and sighing in relief as the wind blew some stray hairs across her face.

The street was pretty empty at this time, except for a group of boys down at the corner playing some game that looked like tag. She didn’t realize she’d scanned the crowd for someone in particular until she heard herself sigh. Trying to distract herself, she began braiding and unbraiding her hair. She _could_ go out and find him, but… she still wasn’t sure if she should keep trying to hate him or not.

“Hola, Imelda,” called a voice, and Imelda’s head whipped to the sound, fixating on one of the girls she vaguely knew from mass staring up at her from the front gate. “Are you waiting for something?”

“Ah, no, Maria,” she called back, grateful for literally anyone else to talk to. Perhaps this would take her mind off... well, that _person_ whom she (maybe still hated and therefore) would _not_ be naming. “I’m just looking out the window.”

“Did you know Héctor’s been asking about you all week? He told me to tell you to come to the plaza, if I saw you.”

Imelda frowned, stomach twisting at the name. “W-why would I do a thing like that?”

Maria shrugged. “He just told me to tell you.” Glancing around, she flashed a wave. “I have to go now. Adios!”

After she left, Imelda moved away from the window. Did _everything_ have to remind her of that… ay, she couldn’t even bring herself call him a pest anymore…! Even still, just because he _asked_ didn’t mean she was going to go.

Or… maybe she _could_ , but _act_ busy, so he wouldn’t think she’d come to see him (which she may or may not have been doing).

She hurried down the stairs, beelining straight for her mother. “Mamá?” she asked, and the woman glanced at her from the pot she was stirring (likely for dinner).

“Sí, mija?”

“We didn’t… oh, I don’t know… _forget_ anything from the plaza the other day, did we?”

“What? You think we forgot something?” the woman asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, maybe we should get more…” Imelda glanced around the kitchen for a produce to name. “…Papas…?”

Her mother blinked at her. “You want more papas?” she repeated, and Imelda nodded awkwardly. “…Alright, you can go if you’d like. Be back by dinner, mija.”

With that, Imelda was out the door, barely remembering to call “Gracias, Mamá! I will!” over her shoulder. If her mother responded (or even heard her), she didn’t notice.

Imelda saw Héctor before she reached the entrance of the plaza; he was talking to a group of men in big hats. ‘Mariachis,’ Imelda thought, and they seemed amused with him, laughing as he gestured wildly to their instruments and outfits. One offered to let him hold their guitar, and she could see the genuine awe on his face, like he had never been offered such a chance, even though Imelda knew he had held plenty of guitars before – he had told her he had learned to play from mariachis just like those ones.

…Wait, wasn’t she supposed to be ‘ignoring’ him? She quickly turned away and pretended to inspect the potatoes in front of her.

“Ah, Señorita,” said a voice beside her, and Imelda jumped. “So you did come, after all.”

“Oh, s-sí,” Imelda managed, avoiding Ernesto’s eyes. She could feel him watching her, and felt a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t think we’ve ever formally introduced ourselves. I’m Ernesto,” he said, extending his hand.

She glanced at it, but otherwise ignored it. “I know.”

Ernesto lowered his hand, and Imelda noticed the twitch of annoyance in his brow. “…You aren’t very polite, are you?” he said bluntly, and she smirked.

“I can be when I want to.” She glanced at him again. “I just don’t want to.”

Ernesto sighed, clearly irritated. “Girls like you are _not_ worth the trouble,” he muttered beneath his breath, but Imelda heard him and whirled, eyes ablaze.

Before she could say anything, though, Héctor appeared between them, beaming. “Imelda! You really came!”

She hesitated, unsure who to respond to. “Oh, uh… sí,” she said finally, deciding to ignore Ernesto for now. He would get his comeuppance eventually.

“I have a surprise for you! Look!” Héctor grinned at her, holding up the mariachi’s guitar she had seen him holding.

“Wow! Es magnífico! Did they give that to you?” Ernesto asked, looking surprised.

“No, but they said I could borrow it. Isn’t it nice?” All three children gazed at the guitar. It was polished thoroughly; they could see their reflections in it.

“Hey, chamaco,” called a voice, and the three turned to see one of the mariachis (he had a neatly combed mustache) beckoning them over. “Are you going to show us what you can do or not?”

“Ah, sí! Uno momento, por favor!” Héctor called, and the man chuckled.

“You’re going to play? For real mariachis?” Ernesto asked, looking concerned.

“Sí, why not?”

Ernesto shrugged. “Do you think you’re ready to?” he asked, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They are… _real_ musicians, you know.”

Héctor hesitated, looking unsurely down at the guitar.

“…You’ll do great,” Imelda heard herself say. She shoved his shoulder lightly. “Just go already, before they take the guitar away.”

Héctor slowly looked up, then beamed at her. “Sí, you’re right! It will be fine; I’m going to do it!” With that, he turned and scrambled back to the group of mariachis, who cheered and clapped as he arrived.

Imelda smiled, paused, then immediately frowned. Ay, what was she doing _now_?!

What was the _one thing_ she had told herself to do while in the plaza…? Ignore Héctor. And had she done that? No, instead she had _further encouraged_ him to play a song (for her, she thought).

She found a seat on one of the small crates near the stalls, and prepared to listen. (Er, no she wasn’t… she was… waiting in line for papas! Sí, that was it. Nevermind that they were the only people in the plaza.)

Through all of this, Héctor had found a performance spot on the rim of the fountain, and was fiddling with tuning the guitar strings.

As Imelda watched him, she realized that she’d never seen him look so… serious? (Was that the right word? Focused, perhaps.) Either way, it was obvious that he held the guitar with much reverence, and every touch was like tenderly stroking an infant. It intrigued her.

“Do you need a song, chamaco?” asked the mustache mariachi. “We have plenty!”

Héctor shook his head. “No gracias,” he said. “I wrote one myself!”

The mariachis ‘oohed’ encouragingly. “Impressive, chico. Let’s hear it, then, and see if it’s any good!”

Ernesto didn’t react (he surely knew this; maybe he had even heard him rehearse it), but Imelda found herself as interested as the mariachis. All Héctor had told her was that he played music, and that he had only ever played for Ernesto. She wondered how good he was at _writing_ songs, _let alone_ playing them.

The boy hesitated nervously, then eyed Imelda (who smiled) and smiled back. Taking a deep breath, he strummed the guitar. “…S-señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches…” he began, hiccupping on the first few notes but slowly finding a tempo, “…Buenas noches, buenas tardes, señoritas y señores…” he sang, and the mariachis clapped in rhythm enthusiastically.

“To be here with you tonight brings me joy, que alegría,” Héctor continued, grinning at Imelda, who found herself clapping along. He was getting more comfortable, pacing back and forth along the fountain’s rim. “For this music is my language, and the world es mi familia.”

“Ay, not bad for a niño!” laughed one of the mariachis between stanzas. They began to sing along, harmonizing, as he repeated the verse. “For this music is my language, and the world es mi familia.”

But Héctor wasn’t aware of them (or anything else), focusing all of his attention on one person. “To be here with you tonight brings me joy, que alegrí—”

“Ay, cuidado!” called a voice, but it was too late. Something round slammed into Héctor’s face unexpectedly, and he yelped, stumbling backwards, before falling into the fountain with a splash.

“Héctor!” Ernesto had called, and Imelda realized only afterwards that she had as well.

The mariachis gasped too, at first, then laughed as the boy sat up, looking utterly confused as he sputtered, brushing wet hair from his eyes.

The mustachioed mariachi was quick to the boy’s side (somehow getting there even before Ernesto and Imelda) and pulled Héctor to his feet. “That really came out of nowhere, eh?” he chuckled, and Héctor blushed as he stepped out of the water, shivering.

“…I-I’m sorry about your guitar,” he said, rubbing his arms and forlornly gazing at the waterlogged instrument.

The mariachi mirrored his gaze, then sighed. “Ah, está bien,” he said finally. “It’s been through some crazy things, muchacho— getting wet is not the end for my guitar.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Besides, it’s a small price to pay to hear the next big name in Mexico, eh?”

“Who, me?” Héctor asked, looking sheepish. “Gracias, but I’m not sure if I want to be _famous_. I just like music for music.”

The mariachi smiled, and patted the boy’s wet head, making the hair stick up oddly. “Those are the words of a true musician, chico.”

Héctor beamed, grinning wider than Imelda had ever seen before.

One of the other mariachis called something she couldn’t hear, and the mustached man straightened. “Well, we are off to make some music of our own, niño,” he said. “It was a pleasure to hear you play. I’ll be looking for you on the stage, ah…” he trailed off.

“…Héctor,” the boy smiled.

“Your last name?” the man asked, but Héctor shrugged.

“Ah, it is in the works. Right now it is ‘de la Cruz’.”

“...Right now?” the mariachi repeated, looking confused as well as amused.

Héctor gave him a serious look. “Sí, Hermana Gabriela says children without family are ‘de la Cruz’, since we were raised in la iglesia and all, but… I don’t like that. It’s not bad; I just think it’s too fancy for me, you know? So I am looking for a new one.”

The mariachi blinked at him, then chuckled. “Alright then, I will try to remember to support the original songs of ‘de la Cruz’ when the time comes. Until we meet again, chico!” With that, the man stood, and followed the rest of his group down the street, shaking the excess water from his guitar.

Héctor watched them go as if in a daze, and Imelda moved to his side, seeing Ernesto do the same opposite her.

“That was really good, Héctor,” Imelda heard herself say, entirely forgetting the point of her coming to the plaza.

“Sí, you were doing so well… until the end, that is,” Ernesto added, nudging the smaller boy’s shoulder.

Héctor looked at Imelda, then back at Ernesto, then back at Imelda again. “You really think so?” he asked, and they nodded. “D-did you hear him? He said I was a _real_ músico!”

“Sí, a músico with no guitar,” Ernesto sighed. “But perhaps when we are older you can save for one.”

“I am already saving!” Héctor declared, fishing in his pocket and holding up a few small coins. “I have cuatro pesos so far!”

Ernesto and Imelda looked at him skeptically.

“Okay, I know it isn’t a lot, but I will get more; don’t worry! We can earn money by playing music, just like the mariachis!”

Ernesto rolled his eyes. “…How are you going to play music to earn money for a guitar when you have no guitar to play music?”

Héctor blinked at him, then looked pensive. “Oh, I guess you’re right.” He straightened, and laughed sheepishly. “Well, we can find other ways! Just give me a few years to think of one.”

Ernesto shook his head, smirking. “You are something else, hermano.”

Héctor smirked back, shrugging. “Eh, I try my best.”

Imelda watched them go back and forth. She hadn’t really seen Héctor interact with… well, _anyone_ besides her (whose ear he talked off), so seeing this casual banter between him and Ernesto was… interesting.

“Ay, careful! I almost have it!” scolded a young voice, followed by two panicked cries and another splash from the fountain. Imelda, Ernesto, and Héctor whirled, but Imelda was the first to speak.

“Oscar! Felipe!” she chided. “What do you think you’re doing?! Get out of there!” She was already at the fountain’s edge, and pulled her brothers (who were now also soaking wet) out of the water.

“We wanted to get our ball,” Oscar told her, clutching the item to his chest while Felipe nodded beside him. “It fell in the fountain.”

“ _Your_ ball?” Imelda raised an eyebrow, shaking her head. “Ay, _you two_ were the ones who threw that?”

They nodded slowly, looking guilty.

“Hey, you hit me in the face, you know!” Héctor frowned at them, rubbing his cheek pitifully.

“It was an accident!” said one (likely Felipe).

“Sí,” said the other. “We just wanted to see if Lupe would fetch it, like a dog!”

“Lupe?” Imelda said incredulously. “Señora Santos’ _cat_? Everyone knows cats don’t fetch like dogs!”

“Well, we know that _now_ ,” Oscar rolled his eyes, then frowned. “She didn’t even do anything.”

“Sí, she just went home.” Felipe nodded, looking equally defeated.

“Ay, what would Mamá think if she saw you?” Imelda scolded them, and they looked down guiltily. “Apologize for all of this mess.”

“We’re sorry,” they said in unison.

“For?” Imelda pressed, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

“Hitting you with our ball,” they finished, looking at Héctor.

The equally drenched boy grinned, waving his hand dismissively. “Ay, no worries, amiguitos! It was kind of funny, if you think about it!” He held out his hand, and the twins looked delighted to be let off so easily. “I’m Héctor, and this is—”

He turned around to introduce Ernesto, but found he was gone. “Oh,” Héctor shrugged. “Well, you can meet mi amigo, Ernesto, later. I don’t know where he went.”

(Imelda had actually seen the older boy walk off as the twins were climbing out of the fountain. Now she saw him loitering on the street corner, surrounded by a group of girls her age – some she knew in passing, and others she considered her friends – but she refrained from saying anything. She didn’t want to bother with him more than she had to.)

“I’m Oscar,” replied one of the twins, and the other obliged with “I’m Felipe,” respectively. “But don’t worry if you mix us up. Our papá does all the time!”

“They are my brothers,” Imelda added, then looked at them sternly. “Now, boys, we are going home to dry you off. Mamá will not like it if you get sick.”

They frowned, then each took one of Héctor’s hands defiantly. “We don’t want to; we want to keep playing! Héctor, don’t let her take us!”

His eyes darted back and forth from one twin to the other, looking surprised. “A-ah, I think you should listen to your sister,” he managed finally.

“You see?” Imelda smirked, crossing her arms. “Now come along, pequeños demonios.”

The twins grumbled, clinging tighter to their new friend’s arms. “ _He_ doesn’t have to dry off,” they pointed out. “We want to stay and play with Héctor. He is nicer than you!”

“I-I really think—” he started to say, looking sheepish, but Imelda cut him off.

“Héctor is going to dry off, too,” she said, and the twins looked horrified.

“Hey, you can’t make him do that!”

“Sí, he doesn’t have to listen to you!”

Héctor tried to pry his hands out of the young boys’ grips. “Ay, chicos, it is very important that we all get dry,” he said, looking dramatically serious. “If you don’t listen to your sister, you know what will happen?”

They stared at him, and shook their heads, looking skeptical but curious.

“…Well,” Héctor said softly, getting on his knees so that he was at their eye level. “When jóvenes like yourselves do not listen to your familia, there is a possibility…” He held his thumb and pointer finger close together. “…A _slight, teeny tiny_ chance… that you will begin to turn… into burros! Just like those!” He dramatically pointed at a passerby leading two donkeys down the street, and the twins gasped in horror. The donkeys turned their heads, and one brayed as if on cue, throwing the twins into hysterics.

Imelda almost laughed at the comical timing and theatrical performance of it all, but as she saw the genuine distress on her brothers’ faces, she comforted them. “Ay, silly niños,” she said, and they ran into her arms. “You will not turn into burros!”

Héctor did laugh, but also looked a little guilty. “Sí, I didn’t mean it! Lo siento, mis amiguitos!”

“We don’t want to be burros! We will never be bad again!” Oscar hiccupped, and Felipe nodded vigorously. “We will always listen to you, Imelda! And Mamá! And Papá!”

“Eh, look at that!” Héctor laughed, elbowing Imelda. “Two obedient brothers; you are welcome!”

Imelda rolled her eyes, smirking, and wiped some tears from her siblings’ tiny faces. “Oh, you don’t know them very well. They say this every week.”

“We want to go home, Imelda,” the twins sniffled. “Por favor, we want to go home…!”

Imelda raised an eyebrow at them fondly. “Sí, sí, we are going to dry you off now. Let’s go.”

With that, the group of them moved to the exit of the plaza, towards their street. The twins were now each clinging to one of their sister’s hands, no longer crying, but still occasionally rubbing their eyes or running the back of their hands along their noses (at which Imelda grimaced in disgust). They walked in silence for most of the way, save for one of the boys asking if Imelda was _really sure_ they wouldn’t turn into donkeys, and Imelda confirming that yes, she was _entirely_ sure.

It wasn’t until they reached the Rivera home that Imelda realized Héctor was still with them. He’d been oddly quiet, and as the twins ran through the gate, she looked at him. He looked troubled, and she found herself torn between saying goodbye or inviting him in. (Oh, a week ago, this would _not_ have been so difficult a question, _that_ was for sure.)

“…Are you okay?” she asked finally, and he met her gaze.

“Oh, sí,” he replied, then looked down. “…I’m sorry for telling that story to your brothers; if I had known they would get so scared, I wouldn’t have—”

“What, Oscar and Felipe?” she laughed, and he stared at her with wide eyes. “They are _little boys_ , Héctor. They will probably forget this by tomorrow. Maybe by _tonight_. You don’t have to worry about frightening them.”

He hesitated, then slowly smiled back at her, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Oh, thank goodness!” he sighed, evidently relieved. “I just thought that… well, I don’t know.” He paused for a few moments, then cleared his throat. “…I... guess I’ll go now,” Héctor said awkwardly, and stepped backwards into the road. “It was nice to see you again, Imelda. And meet your brothers.”

“O-oh,” Imelda said, suddenly aware of how her heart dropped. “Well, I mean, you don’t _have_ to leave right _now_ ; you’re still all wet. You should come in and dry off.” (Oh, how the Imelda of a week ago would have strangled her. She hated to think how thrilled her mamá would be.) She visibly saw his shoulders perk up, but could tell he was trying to be discreet.

“…Are… are you sure? I don’t want to intrude or anything…”

“Sí, mis padres shouldn’t mind.” She smirked at him. “And if they do, you can play your song to charm them. They love music too.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I-if you’re sure…”

"Sí, I have no doubts about it." She nodded as well, and reached for his hand.

He instinctively reached for hers as well, and they both smiled, before walking across the threshold together, hand-in-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again, friends and neighbors! It's been a hot minute! :)
> 
> (I know that ending was a little cheesy, but sue me, I love cheesy things!) Hopefully now that you've read the story, some of the tags and/or the title make a little more sense! :'D I was literally clueless as to what I should name it, and then went "...You know what the most iconic things in this fic are? Donkeys and fountains. Hm... screw it, Donkeys in the Fountain."
> 
> I chose 'The World es mi Familia' for Héctor to sing, because while 'Un Poco Loco' is confirmed to be his song to Imelda (and I love it; my favorite song in the movie tbh), I felt like they aren't really at the point where he literally writes a song *about* her, you know (they literally became 'friends' a week ago, lol)? Plus, the lyrics for 'The World es mi Familia' (or what we see of them in the movie) seemed pretty simple? Idk, it just seems like something written when he was younger, if you know what I mean. This could be entirely wrong, but my logic makes sense to me, haha. :'D
> 
> I actually *originally* wanted to pick a common mariachi song from that period in time, (since I was toying with lil Héctor being nervous to perform, period, let *alone* showing off his lyric-writing talents) but you would not *believe* how hard it is to find songs from Mexico prior to 1910! D: Nevertheless, in the end, I think it worked out that he sang an original (probably for the better, haha)!
> 
> Like I said in the opening notes, I rewrote this soooo many times! It originally took place the morning after 'Al Escondite', and had Imelda basically going off on Héctor and then eventually apologizing. I was almost to the 'end', but I just wasn't happy with it. Imelda was getting OOC, and the relationship development was all over the place; I have a lot of thoughts about their relationship, especially considering how the entire 'abandonment' thing goes down, but I won't bother with that now. The point is, I rewrote the story and liked this version much better. :'D Hopefully you guys liked it too!
> 
> Please let me know if you read any typos or translations that were off, and I'll fix them. I'd also love feedback on characterization or how to improve writing some of these characters, if anyone has some! :P
> 
> And I believe that's it, so bye for now; thank you so much for reading! :)


End file.
